No Regrets
by Individually Packaged
Summary: He wanted to either punch or kiss Bakura. To either throw him out of the room or throw him on the bed. Thiefshipping Oneshot.


_Please read this note so you're not completely confused:_ This story occurs just at the beginning of Season 5. Meaning Bakura has just returned from the Shadow Realm and is about to follow through with his plans to raise Zorc in the past. I'm assuming that you have a general idea of what happens in Season 5 and how the anime ends.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!

**Warning:** Beware of swearing and a lime!

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No Regrets

Marik Ishtar poured himself another glass of Hisui Red sake as he sat at the windowsill of the hotel room. He glanced at the golden clock on the wall, getting impatient. Way to be late, he thought, and on his birthday no less. He scanned Japan's nightlife ten stories below him and watched the steady rain that tapped on the window, but as much as he sought the familiar shock of white hair, he couldn't spot it.

It had been some time since he'd last seen Bakura. In fact, Marik thought he'd never see the spirit again after Marik's evil side had vanquished Bakura during their duel in Battle City. He still recalled the blazing fire of the Winged Dragon of Ra as it extinguished Bakura and nearly destroyed Marik, who was but a soul standing beside him. But just the other day, Marik had discovered that Bakura—the perpetual, mysterious thief that he was—had taken over Ryou's body again and returned to steal the Millennium items. Nobody but Marik knew what exactly the spirit was planning. But upon realizing that Bakura, and not Ryou, walked through Japan again, Marik had taken the earliest flight to Japan and now sat in the hotel room, waiting for the belated thief.

Marik absentmindedly traced a finger over the glass of alcohol and smiled ruefully. Since he was underage, he'd had Odion, who had traveled with him and now resided in another hotel room, buy him some Japanese wine earlier that day. He hadn't seen Bakura in so long. Upon setting foot on Japanese soil again, he felt nervous suddenly, and needed some way to calm down before facing Bakura. He'd never drunk so much alcohol all at once, but having waited for several hours now, he'd drunk most of the bottle already. And still, every time he thought of the white-haired spirit, something stronger and more fiery than sake swept through his stomach, making him flustered all over again.

As Marik brought the wine glass to his lips, he heard a brief knock at the hotel room door. Setting down the glass on the windowsill, he stood up quickly, a bit lightheaded and unsteady, and strode across the room to yank open the door.

Bakura stood before him, hair matted from the rain, wearing his blue and white striped shirt and a long, dark trench coat with its collar flipped upward. He stared at Marik with an unreadable, closed expression. Marik simply stared back, unable to believe that he had truly returned. The sake was burning in Marik's stomach, the adrenaline was pulsing through his veins.

"Are you going to let me in?" Bakura finally asked.

Marik stood back and opened the door fully as Bakura walked through. Now that he was face to face with Bakura again, he didn't know what to say. His emotions were haywire, partly from the alcohol, and ranged from relief, happiness, foreboding, and regret.

Bakura took in the comfort and luxury of the room. Although Marik had booked the first hotel he could find, the room was extravagant, dressed in gold and red, and the single bed was plush and inviting. As Bakura looked around, he caught sight of the glass and wine bottle at the windowsill.

His eyebrows rose at the nearly-empty bottle as he glanced at Marik. "Well. I was hoping we could celebrate your birthday together, but I see you've started the festivities before I could join in."

Marik crossed his arms. "Spare me the bullshit, Bakura. There's nothing to celebrate."

Bakura looked only briefly surprised by Marik's words. "And why is that?"

"I know what you're planning to do, now that you've returned," Marik said slowly, slurring only slightly despite the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. "You'll gather the Millennium items. You'll try to resurrect Zorc Necrophades. You'll send the Pharaoh back into the past so you can seal him there and avenge the village of Kul Elna." He paused for a moment, and then stared directly at Bakura. "If you go through with your original plan—you'll fail. You're not meant to win this battle, Bakura. _You'll_ be sealed instead."

Bakura had listened quietly and interestedly, but didn't seem to believe a single word of it. He wasn't surprised that Marik knew all the details of Bakura's plan. He'd told Marik all this earlier, during the Battle City tournament, when they'd met frequently and privately to discuss the matter of defeating Yuugi, and in the midst of it all, had forged a relationship.

"Really? And how do you know that I'll fail? It's not as though Ishizu could have looked through her Millennium necklace and seen this future, having given that brat Yuugi the necklace."

Marik shook his head. "She may not have it now, but she saw a foreboding future for you before she gave Yuugi the necklace." He gave Bakura a lingering, serious look. "The Pharaoh is meant to win. You're going to your death if you return to Egypt and go into the past."

Bakura simply smiled regrettably. "You can't dissuade me, Marik. Whatever Ishizu saw, it won't stop me. If you've learnt anything about me, you should know how strongly I feel about putting the spirits of Kul Elna to rest after millennia of waiting in the Ring." Bakura's expression turned quite serious at this statement. "This is my one and only purpose, and I'll complete it or die trying."

"So that's it, then?" Marik glanced away. He turned and walked toward the windowsill so he wouldn't have to face Bakura's resolute face. "You've returned for no reason other than avenging your people?"

Marik heard Bakura approach behind him. As Marik gazed at the raindrops that slipped over the windowpane, he was torn: He wanted to turn and either punch or kiss Bakura. Either throw him out of the room or throw him on the bed. He couldn't stand this indifference. How could Bakura turn his back on what they had had during the Battle City tournament? Marik hadn't been able to forget a single experience they had shared. And somehow, without having seen the future Ishizu had foretold, Marik knew that Bakura wouldn't return the next time he encountered the Pharaoh.

"Yes, that's the only reason I've returned," Bakura finally said, standing right behind Marik. "But once I've sealed the Pharaoh and avenged my people, I'll be free of my obligations. I won't have a true goal anymore. We can—"

"No, Bakura," Marik turned briefly, to face him. "There will never be a _we_ after today, after you go back into the past. If you follow through with your plan, you'll be sealed. The Pharaoh's not as weak as you believe him to be. You won't return."

Bakura stared at Marik for several moments. His face was still covered in raindrops and his hair fell around his piercing, brown eyes. "You really have no trust in me, then. To believe that I can't face the past without being sealed."

"It's an instinct, a sinister feeling that I have—not a lack of trust," Marik replied tiredly, realizing that Bakura wouldn't budge in his decision. "You don't need to fear my not trusting you. Trusting you is the only thing I did during the Battle City tournament, and something that I'll always do."

Bakura looked surprised to hear such sincere words. Marik simply stared back at him with a saddened, regrettable expression on his face. Finally, feeling his hardhearted countenance break, Bakura slipped a hand into his trench coat pocket and brought out a single card, offering it to Marik.

"I seem to have forgotten the obligatory words," Bakura said quietly, as Marik took the Duel Monsters card he'd been offered. Their fingers touched briefly as the card was exchanged.

"Happy birthday."

Marik stared at the image of a woman with one white wing and one black wing: Change of Heart. He glanced up at Bakura, frowning. "Why are you giving me this? I don't care about dueling."

"It's more as a keepsake than anything," Bakura said, not sure why he'd bothered to give Marik a present with such vague meaning as this. "It's to remind you of something you've done for me."

"What?" Marik asked, confused. The alcohol in his system seemed to be catching up with him, because he felt lightheaded again. "What is it that I've done?"

Bakura glanced out the window, as though unwilling to look at Marik as he spoke. "You found some scrap of humanity in me. In a creature made of vengeful spirits and part of Zorc himself."

He seemed reluctant to say anything else, but his meaning wasn't lost on Marik. In the time they'd shared during the tournament, Bakura had seen Marik as less of a partner, and more of a friend. When they'd kissed and torn each other's clothes off, it was not only with need or lust, but it was also with emotion.

"So this is your way of saying goodbye, isn't it?" Marik finally said. "You're truly leaving. Why would you give this to me, if not as a way to remember you after you're gone?"

Bakura continued to stare out the window, his expression hard and unyielding.

"You're not even sure if you're coming back, are you?" Marik pressed. Suddenly, something had sprung in his throat. What could he do to stop Bakura from leaving? The spirit was stubborn. He thought he had everything figured out; he thought he was making the right choice.

"Dammit, Bakura! Why are you still going through with this?" Marik burst out, hating that Bakura was silent, hating that he was simply letting Marik's anger burn itself out. "You've just returned from the Shadow Realm. How can you chase after revenge again so soon?"

But Bakura simply gave him another closed, unreadable look. "I have no time to waste. I've already wasted millennia."

At that, Bakura turned, about to walk away, about to utter his last goodbye before he left for good and stepped out the door, but Marik grabbed Bakura by the collar of his trench coat and, despite being quite drunk and unsteady on his feet, wheeled the spirit around to bring them face to face.

"You're not leaving like this," Marik stated, his fingers wrapped around the coat collar. "You're not leaving with such a shitty farewell."

Bakura looked startled to have been manhandled like that, but threw Marik's hand off his coat and smiled grimly. "Alright. Then what kind of farewell did you have in mind?"

Marik didn't really know what he expected Bakura to do. Being so inebriated, he hadn't thought very far after grabbing Bakura's coat. But as he stared into Bakura's brown, unwavering eyes, he began to move of his own accord.

Reaching one hand behind Bakura's neck, Marik pulled him forward and pressed his lips against the spirit's. Marik wound his other arm around Bakura's waist, over the rain soaked coat, and pressed him close.

Bakura had flinched the moment their lips connected, but didn't hesitate after that. He wrapped his arms around Marik's waist, reaching under his shirt, and ghosted his fingers over Marik's back. At that, Marik slipped his tongue into Bakura's mouth, tilting his head to accommodate their deepening kiss, not caring that he probably tasted very strongly of sake.

Not a minute later, Bakura pushed Marik backward several feet until the back of Marik's knees hit the edge of the bed. Then, pressing forward, Bakura toppled him onto the bed, climbing on a bronze and rosy looking Marik, whose eyes were glazed with liquor and lust. Bakura drove Marik's arms into the bedsheets, biting softly on his neck, between the skin that wasn't covered with golden jewelry. Bakura paused for a moment, sat up, and while straddling Marik, began removing his pieces of jewelry, one by one.

Marik watched as Bakura carefully unclipped the armlets and wristlets and placed them on the nightstand, knowing how much Marik loved his golden trinkets. This bit of confirmation that Bakura knew him so well caused Marik to turn his head and glance away. He'd lose this. These mindful little actions and tidbits of affection—they'd be gone.

As Bakura removed the large, golden ring around Marik's neck, Marik turned to face him with a resolute expression.

"Bakura, it's still my birthday, after all," Marik began. "There's something I'd like you to do."

Bakura leaned forward and kissed Marik's bare neck. "What?"

Marik pressed his lips to Bakura's earlobe and before he could change his mind, whispered:

"Fuck me."

The words were a jolt to Bakura, who immediately sat up and frowned down at Marik. After all, they may have ripped each other's clothes off before and kissed and came, but they had never had sex before. Bakura looked into Marik's glazed, lavender eyes and pursed his lips.

"No. You're drunk," he replied. "That's not something you should be asking for when you're this plastered."

But Marik shook his head. "I may be drunk, but I'm completely aware of what's going on. Everything is clearer to me than ever."

"You'll regret it," Bakura returned. "Drunken sex is probably the worst thing we could do right about now, with everything else hanging over our heads."

Marik was momentarily struck by the image of Bakura towering over him, his white hair flowing over his shoulders and partly over his face, holding Marik pinned to the bed, and looking down with an equally glazed expression on his face. The angular, graceful features of Bakura's face were tinged with doubt, as though Bakura knew that this might be their last night, but refused to voice it.

Before Bakura could dissuade him, Marik sat up and placed his hands on Bakura's trench coat, which he slowly removed. Despite his deterring words, Bakura didn't stop him. Before long, Marik had thrown the coat on the floor, had slipped the blue and white, striped shirt over Bakura's head, and unzipped his pants. At that, lust overrode any dissent Bakura previously had, and so carelessly, hungrily, and swiftly, he stripped off Marik's clothes in mere moments.

Marik pulled Bakura forward, pressing their bare skin together, and kissed him unreservedly. His heart was pounding with anticipation, his mind dismissed errant, foreboding thoughts—that this was his final night with Bakura, that the spirit would soon depart to chase his vengeance, that after Bakura was sealed, Marik would only see him in taunting, mocking dreams from which he'd awaken with longing and regret.

But for that single night, Bakura touched and stroked the length of Marik's body. He kissed down the carved hieroglyphs upon Marik's back and ran his fingers through the golden hair. He bit Marik's shoulder and passionately grabbed Marik's hips as he panted and sweated and came. Marik could not have asked for more—his wish was granted. And afterward, as Bakura placed his flushed face into the crook of Marik's neck and drifted into deep sleep, Marik stayed awake, his arms around the spirit, yearning to stay tangled and warm in Bakura's embrace and examine the pale, moonlight features of the man he'd come to love.

But when the first rays of sun pierced the window pane and Marik awoke—Bakura was gone.

And months later, after Bakura had gone into the past and failed to seal the Pharaoh, as Marik had predicted, Marik stood amongst Yuugi's friends and watched the Pharaoh leave for the spirit world. As Marik watched Atem walk through the arches of the netherworld, something caught his eye. He thought he glimpsed another figure, tall and proud and pale, walk through the arches as well, before he turned and briefly glanced at Marik.

As their eyes met, the spirit neither smiled nor frowned, but simply looked at peace with his decision. Marik saw no regret in Bakura's spirit. After this brief glance, the pale figure turned and entered the spirit world without another backward look.

Marik slipped his hand into his pant pocket and brought out the card Bakura had given him—Change of Heart. Bakura had given him multiple ways to remember him: tangible and intangible. As Marik's hand fisted around the card, he realized that despite the everlasting longing, the eternal ache, there was nothing to regret. The cards were laid out between them, their relationship explored and put to rest.

He realized, as the doors to the spirit world closed and the light faded, that it could not have happened any other way.

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